


among other things

by a_novel_idea



Series: the hunt [1]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Post-Avengers, Recovery, Signs of PTSD, fraction!hawkeye, non-age of ultron compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 15:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3901003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_novel_idea/pseuds/a_novel_idea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Goddess comes to visit he tells her about Thor, because that’s really where this started, and he tells her about his brother. He tells her about losing himself for three days, being forced to kill without reason, without guilt or remorse until he was broken from the spell and every emotion that had been locked away crashed forward all at once. He tells her about Nat, and how she has stood by his side though everything, how she has woken him from nightmares, and kept him from starving when he refuses to leave his room. In a voice much more suited to secrets, he tells her of Phil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	among other things

It’s September.

Clint Barton is standing on the balcony of his floor of Avenger’s Tower. The wind is cool, but he pays it no mind; he’s watching the moon rise, turning his face upwards and letting the city below him melt away. It’s late, or early, depending, but he pays the watch on his wrist no mind; time isn’t relevant to the schedule he keeps anymore.

He can feel it when she comes. The air becomes heavier, more alive, burdened with her presence and the weight of all the years she carries. He does not turn to her, closes his eyes and wills her away because he does not deserve this, not after everything that’s happened and all the things he’s done. His will is in vain, as it always is when she is involved, because she gives him what he needs, not what he thinks he wants.

She comes to him as he imagines a mother would, wrapping his frame in hers though this visage is half the size of him, pressing the rough stone around his neck into his skin. She surrounds him, washes away the doubt and the hurt for only just a moment before the voice in the back of his head reminds him that he is not worthy of this. When he feels her draw her presence back, he sinks to one knee: it is more out of respect than the pressure of her power on his shoulders.

“I have missed your presence in my Temple, huntsman,” she says softly, voice strong and taut against the odds of what others expect her to be.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “It has been a very long year.”

“Tell me,” she says, and he does.

He tells her about Thor, because that’s really where this started, and he tells her about his brother. He tells her about losing himself for three days, being forced to kill without reason, without guilt or remorse until he was broken from the spell and every emotion that had been locked away crashed forward all at once. He tells her about Nat, and how she has stood by his side though everything, how she has woken him from nightmares, and kept him from starving when he refuses to leave his room. In a voice much more suited to secrets, he tells her of Phil, and how he hasn’t been able to look him in the eye because he knows he won’t like what he sees, knows that the love that once was isn’t any more.

He tells her of Kate, his apprentice, of how she is wary of his Goddess and his shrines, but she respects them enough to care for them while he is gone. He tells her of Lucky, the dog he had rescued from the Russians and from the street, and how he has been given nothing but love and loyalty in return. He tells her of his brother, of how he had blown back into his life like it was nothing, like he hadn’t left Clint bleeding and stranded on the side of the road all those years ago.

He tells her of himself.

***

It is JARVIS that alerts the others to her presence.

“Sir, has requested that you show your guest to the communal kitchen,” he says. “The other Avengers are awaiting your arrival.”

“Tell Tony this isn’t any of his business, JARVIS.”

“Sir insists that all on goings in his Tower are his business.”

“I would meet your family,” she says before he can rebut Tony’s demand again. “I would meet those that have taken you as their own and cared for you.”

He cannot deny her.

***

When he exits the elevator, the others think he is alone.

“What the hell, Barton!” Tony shouts. “What the hell did you invite into the Tower?”

“Stark,” Coulson snaps from his seat at the island, “mind your tone, and show some respect.”

“Respect to what?”

Clint knows the moment she merges into physical form. The others step back, wary and rightfully afraid. She’s twelve feet tall this time, strong and demanding and beautiful, and her power bears down on everyone in the room. She wears the face of the Maiden, and carries her bow in her hand. Thor drops to one knee, bows as if he isn’t royalty himself, and when he stands he averts his eyes respectfully. Natasha makes eye contact, but does not waver. Steve clenches his fist like he wishes his shield wasn’t in his room. Bruce is, thankfully, asleep on the couch in the living room; Clint can see his feet hanging off the side of his favorite couch.

“This is the family you have collected,” she says to him.

“It is.”

“An accomplished group of warriors,” she compliments, “able to keep each other safe and defend themselves in their own right.”

“They’re alright.”

“Hey!” Tony says, but he is promptly ignored.

“You do not give them enough credit. I have seen them,” she says cryptically. “They would defend you to their dying.”

“I don’t want that,” Clint insists.

“You disrespect them by saying so,” she chides softly. “Would you not lay your life for them? How can you promise to aide them in the Hunt, or they you, and not wish for them to follow through as you would?”

“I know it’s not fair.”

“If you wished them harm, you would not be my Huntsman.”

Clint ignores the choking noise that escapes Thor’s throat.

“I am your Pillar,” Barton says, and it sounds like a ritual no one else is familiar with.

“You _are_ mine, dear one,” she says to Clint, hand passing over his bowed head. Her eyes survey the room, taking in this place that has been a sort-of home. Her gaze pauses on Coulson. “But you, you bow to my sister.”

Everyone’s eyes shift to where Coulson is leaning forward in his seat, curled around the still unhealed wound in his shoulder and physically unable to stand and bend the knee, but unwilling to ignore the Goddess altogether.

“I do,” he says quietly.

“I suspect she’ll be upset by this turn of events. Who was it that has slain you?”

“T’was my brother, Goddess,” Thor says. “The same who has befuddled friend Barton’s mind.”

“Loki Loufeyson,” she says decisively. “He has meddled in many of my plans. I do not appreciate being meddled with again, less even the harm that has come to my Son.”

Her eyes circle the room again, examining each face, the essence of each soul, though she does not move from Barton’s side, until her eyes land on Tony.

“This is curious as well. You belong to my brother, Hephaestus.”

This time even Barton’s head moves so he can stare at Tony.

“Yeah, no disrespect and all, but your brother and I aren’t really on speaking terms right now, or, you know, like _ever_.”

Clint groans and covers his face with his hands. The Goddess hums and runs her hand over Barton’s hair again.

“He does not speak untruthfully. My brother is never close with his Children.”

“Please excuse the Son of Hephaestus,” Coulson says. “He spends too much time with his metal, and not enough with others.”

“There is nothing to excuse,” the Goddess says lightly. “It is well known that of my brother’s Children are volatile with their own species.”

Stark open his mouth.

“Tony,” Clint says. “ _Don’t_.”

He frowns at Barton but closes his mouth without a word.

“Respected as well as cherished,” she says to Clint. “You could not want for much more in a family. You have done well.”

Clint bows his head.

“Next time I will meet this daughter of yours,” she says, “if she is ready.”

He can feel the power dissipate, can feel the tension ease out of his shoulder. The others, save Coulson and Stark, still look rattled; even Thor is in awe of his visitor.

“Friend Clint,” Thor says reverently, “you did not say you were the favored of the gods.”

“Goddess,” he corrects absently. “Just the one.”

“Is that what that was?” Steve asks. “A goddess?”

“Artemis,” Tony says, “Goddess of the Hunt, among other things.”

***

Clint doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night. He slinks back to his room when no one but Natasha and Phil are paying attention, and he watches the sun rise. The presence of the Goddess hasn’t changed anything, hasn’t washed away the traces of magic still in his head, hasn’t brought back the agents and the civilians he killed while under the influence of said magic, hasn’t taken away Phil’s pain, hasn’t fixed the last shining cracks in this team he’s apparently claimed as family, but….there is a new lightness in his chest, like maybe he can face this, conquer it even, get back to as close as things were before.

***

In the morning, when everyone else has slept and showered and returned to the kitchen, Tony rolls in with a cup of coffee the size of his bicep while Clint is standing other the stove making Natasha and Phil pancakes. He drops the cup on the counter, crosses his arms, and says,

“So. Gods.”

“No,” Clint says, turning to place a plate in front of Phil. “We are not having this conversation.”

“Perfect. Good Talk.”

Tony turns around and marches back out the door.

“Maybe you should,” Phil says.

“What? Talk to Stark about my gods and beliefs? Why?”

“It might help.”

Clint tenses, then forces himself to relax.

“I don’t want to talk to Tony.”

Out of the corner of their eyes, both men watch Natasha slip away.

“You need to talk to someone,” Phil insists. “Anyone. A therapist, Tony, Nat, Steve, Kate, hell, Lucky, if you think that would help, but keeping everything to yourself, isn’t – ”

“You?” Clint asks without turning to face the other man.

“ _Clint_ ,” Phil stresses, “I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me for _months_.”

“Maybe I wasn’t ready?”

“Are you ready now?”

Clint shrugs. He waits, waits for the rejection, waits for Phil to turn him away. He hears the slow scrape of Phil’s chair across the floor, and thinks that this is it, this is Phil finally walking away.

He’s almost startled by the hand that circles his wrist. Phil’s thump traces the lines of tattoos around his writs, stroking back and forth until Clint finally works up enough courage to look at him.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Phil insists.

Clint drops his eyes again, nods, and does not feel better for the kiss that’s dropped to his bare shouilder.


End file.
